Dominion (Re-edition)

by Melody Manful

  Oh, crap. I only knew one pretty girl with a three-headed dog.

  D.

  D was watching Abby.

  For a second my heart filled with ice water. I didn’t think, I didn’t hesitate. I flew out to her, wings flapping wildly, because I had to be sure she was safe. I couldn’t imagine ever breathing again if she were not.

  “Gideon!” Abigail shouted. Crap. I whirled around and saw my reflection in the little boat’s windshield. Crap crap crap. I quickly turned myself invisible.

  Too late. Too late. Did the driver see me? Was he startled by Abigail’s shouting? Whatever the reason, the boat turned at too steep an angle, and nearly rolled. The Cells and their heavily-armed bodyguards were tipped into the sea, while the boat spun in smaller and smaller circles around them.

  I turned to see what Tristan was doing and, to my great surprise, he was staring at me incredulously. Her guardian angel!

  What the hell are you doing, Tristan? Why aren’t you saving her?

  Well, my excuse is that I’m testing a theory. What’s yours? Why aren’t you saving her? He asked calmly.

  I couldn’t believe that Tristan was doing nothing. I could feel panic welling up in my chest, muscling my lungs and heart out of the way and making itself comfortable. I was confused. Panic? That can’t be mine. I must be channeling Tristan’s feelings. He would be panicked. I would be, well, crap. I was panicked. When I looked back at Tristan, though, he was still wearing his horrid half-smile. I made a note to smack him good and hard as soon as I got the chance.

  I was imagining the sweet, sweet feeling of bloodying His Royal Highness’s noble nose when I heard Abigail’s scream. Worse, half a scream, with the other half swallowed up by the dark and unforgiving sea. In that split second, I saw the end—a world without Abigail.

  I have to save her! No, actually, I don’t. But I must! My own thoughts confused me. Goddammit!

  I could see Abby’s tiny fragile human hand clawing at the surface of the water. Off to my right, her mother had been thrown free. Abby, though, was still in danger of being run over by the wildly circling boat. I reached out to her. She didn’t reach back.

  Why should she? She couldn’t see me.

  I didn’t know how I would get her out of the churning water without her cooperation. I snapped my fingers and turned my body visible. Abigail’s shock seemed to double when she saw me. I didn’t have time for any explanations.

  “Come on, Abby. Trust me.” I tried to pull her out of the water. She glanced at her family, and for a moment she fought me. I pressed my lips to her forehead and took her into my arms as though she were a sick little girl. She dug her fingers painfully into my shoulders, just above where the wings attached, and closed her eyes.

  I flew Abigail to dry land. Further down the shore D was flipping over a form on her clipboard. She reached behind her ear for her pen, and I wrapped my wings around Abby, as though that might hide her from D’s sight. I didn’t know where Tristan was. I barely knew where I was. All I could feel was Abby, thrumming, thankfully, thrumming with life. I held on to her. I couldn’t not hold on.

  But behind me I heard the whine of the boat’s engine, and a few horrible thumping noises. I knew Abigail was not the only person who needed saving, and I knew how much pain she was going to be in if something happened to her family. I let her go, and went back to the boat. I couldn’t see anyone. I was supposed to be so powerful, but right now? I pushed the thought from my head and dove under the gray water’s surface.

  The more I tried, the more I realized there was nothing I could do. All the lives I’d taken, and now, I couldn’t even save a handful. I thought of how many people Tristan had saved over the years, and cursed him for not managing to save a few more right now. I thought I’d hated him before, but today, I learned to truly hate him. Every feather, every smug little grin.

  On the shore, I heard Abigail begin to cry, and I started to feel horribly, mortally weak. I knew that if I wanted, I could feed off her pain and become stronger, but I resisted doing that, and my pain consequently increased.

  I caught sight of Tristan, and he was no longer trying to taunt me. I could see that he was aching inside. Well, he left Abby. Let him ache.

  “Gideon?” Abigail called out. Tristan flinched to hear her call out to me. I was beside her in a flash, forgetting for the moment all my confusion and pain. I wanted so much to take her hands and tell her everything was going to be all right, but I couldn’t, and with that thought, I collapsed unto my knees.

  Tristan was immediately beside me, trying to help me up. “Stay away from me!” I yelled, pushing at his ice-white wings.

  He backed away, his hands up in surrender.

  The theory I had—it was that if I stayed away just a second too long, you would save her… and I guess I was right. For a moment it seemed as though he might be hoping for my approval, but the moment passed and he flew back to Abigail.

  My vision dimmed, and narrowed down to a single shimmering point. A single glimmer of light, featureless and flickering. I was about to give in to a wave of dizziness when I felt a cold wet nose press against my hand. A snuffling noise brought me back to reality.

  D’s dog. “D, you know I’m normally glad to see you, but I have to ask . Why are you here?” I tried looking over her shoulder to see her paperwork, but she ducked away from me in a huff.

  “I’m here for a Brian Cells.”

  I must be more horrible than even I imagined, because for a moment, that news brought me pure unadulterated joy. Not Abby! Oh no. Abby’s father. The joy drained away.

  “No, no, D, you can’t take him. That’s Abigail’s father,” I told her, almost babbling. “If you take him, Abigail will be, um, she’ll be sad.”

  One of my finest speeches, ladies and gentlemen.

  “Gideon, I have to take him. And anyway, what do you care?” I had no answer for that. D put her pen back behind her ear in a casual manner that somehow seemed obscene under the circumstances. “Anyway, his name has already been crossed out because he’s already dead.”

  “No! You have to give him back. There has to be a way. I’ll do anything.” I grabbed her hand to make my point. “You name it, I’ll do it.”

  “Gideon, I can’t bring him back. Once his soul leaves his body, it’s too late. Besides, do you think that telling me someone will be sad could ever keep me from my work? I’d never get anything done, you know.” I had never heard her speak to me in this snitty little tone before. Then again, I’d never challenged her before. “I don’t understand why there’s so much sadness involved, anyway. I’m not out to hurt anyone. I’m just Death. I’m just there. I’m there at the end of an adventure, yes, but I’m also around at what is likely the beginning of another one.”

  D was still talking, but she really wasn’t talking to me anymore. This was fine, because I wasn’t really listening as well as I could be. I liked D, but I didn’t share her view that she didn’t deserve to be thought of as a source of fear. Thinking of Abigail’s loss, the weird finality of it, left me very much afraid. There was fear. Fear, and something else.

  “This is my fault,” I said, more to myself than to D. “This whole thing is my fault.”

  “Your fault? Did you cause the accident?” D asked.

  “I think I did,” I whispered, and for the first time in my life, I felt like a monster.

  DAMAGED

  Abigail

  “Politicians start wars.

  Men fight wars.

  Governments win wars.

  But the innocents loses war

  For it is them who hurts the most.”

  

  My father was gone. He was dead because I’d been seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real.

  The CIA has a simple monument to fallen agents on one of the white marble walls of its Langley, Virginia headquarters. A star is carved into the wall for each agent killed in the line of duty, unmarked by any name or identification. Agents are anonymous even in death
.

  Dad wasn’t killed in a suicide bombing overseas or shot in the line of duty, so there was no official fanfare for him, not even a modest little star on the CIA Memorial Wall.

  My mother didn’t want to risk her husband’s funeral turning into a media circus, so she arranged a small memorial service open only to our immediate family. Dad’s body had never been recovered, so there was no casket, no urn. Instead, we filled a small granite box with little trinkets that reminded us of him and buried it at sea. I put in a boxing glove. Logan had sent a card explaining that he knew Dad hated flowers but loved Mexican food accompanying a bouquet of cilantro, which brought a smile to my face despite the lump in my throat. We put both into the box, crushing the cilantro a bit to make it fit. Mom added a pencil topped with an ugly little troll doll sporting a tuft of bright purple hair. I’d never seen it before, and didn’t know the story behind it. It was a reminder that they had shared a life and a love together before I’d ever come along.

  My friends didn’t even know that my father had died. None of them other than Gideon had ever even met him. I didn’t have anyone to turn to except my mother, and I couldn’t really turn to her. I couldn’t even look at her without feeling guilty. She hadn’t stopped crying since she’d learned he didn’t survive the crash. I hadn’t cried at all since I’d learned it.

  Even when I stood on the deck and watched my father’s little granite box sink into the waves the tears wouldn’t come. My heart was filled, not with pain, but with emptiness. At least no one dared tell me to cry.

  The CIA assured us after interrogating Andrei that we were likely safe now that my father was gone. Andrei and his post-Cold-War ilk apparently felt few or none of Dad’s secret contacts were known to us, because he’d shared none of his work, and little of his time, with us. Since we clearly had no useful information, and coming for us was no longer a way to manipulate him, we had nothing more to fear. Much as I’d missed him when he was away and resented that he was never home, his near-constant absence had kept us safe.

  There were still paparazzi and the slings and arrows of outrageous celebrity, so Mom kept Ben on, along with a few other select bodyguards, for which I was secretly glad. Bodyguards had become a fixture in my life. With so many other things falling away, it was nice to have at least one thing remain constant.

  In the days after the funeral I refused to go inside, staying outside on the field where we had trained, the only place I felt connected to my father. Even here, as I spent hour after hour target shooting, the tears wouldn’t fall.

  “Miss Cells, you haven’t eaten anything at all today,” Ben said as he came down from the main house. “Are you—”

  I fired over Ben’s voice to drown it out. I just didn’t want to hear yet another person ask me if I was all right. I knew if I heard that question one more time I would do something I’d regret. I just wanted to keep on shooting and let the noise shut out the rest of the world.

  My father was really gone. He was never coming back. Everyone was sad. Everyone was crying.

  Everyone except me. My father used to say tears are a luxury we can’t afford to waste. I didn’t think I’d listened all that well, but I guess I had.

  Ben reached out a hand to take my weapon. “Your father wouldn’t want you to starve yourself.”

  “My father is dead.” My voice lacked the emotion I knew should be there, but I was numb. Numb, and maybe angry.

  I wanted to scream and scream until my throat couldn’t take it anymore, but oddly, it felt like it would just take more energy than I had. I didn’t have it in me to do any screaming. Too much effort. I sat on the ground, angry at the world, angry at everyone including myself.

  “Abigail, honey, please come eat something.” My mother’s pleading voice was what made me finally get up. I walked past her and went to my room without acknowledging her. I knew I was hurting her by ignoring her, but how could I ever face her after I’d taken the love of her life away from her?

  I closed myself in my bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, and it was then that tears finally ran down my cheeks. I sank to the floor and cried and cried, wishing I’d died instead of my father.

  When I closed my bloodshot and tear-swollen eyes that night, I prayed. I prayed that I would wake up and everything would be as it should be. I prayed for my mother, my friends, and my family.

  Come morning, none of my prayers were answered.

  My father used to say, “Goodbyes are sad, but they are temporary. Just as hellos end with goodbyes, so will goodbyes end with hellos.”

  So, I closed my eyes and whispered, “Father, until I see you again, hello and goodbye.”

  BROKEN STRINGS

  Gideon

  It had been a long week. I hadn’t meant to stay away from Earth, but I had. When I’d gone to check in on Abigail, she had been raw and vulnerable, with pain and sadness radiating out from her in waves. When I stood invisibly beside her I could feel those waves wash over me. It should have been exhilarating. But Abby’s pain did not strengthen me. It left me wincing. I didn’t understand any of it. It was easier to stay away.

  D brought me home with her after the accident in the Bay, and was calm and patient with me while I sulked and refused to return to Earth.

  We spent afternoons—well, what could best be described as afternoons in D’s timeless realm—lazing about in a meadow full of asphodels, throwing sticks for Spot. It cheered me up a little to tease him, throwing two sticks at once in two different directions and seeing his heads scrabble with one another over which one to chase.

  “Spot?”

  “Well, I keep updating his name,” she said, scratching the dog’s massive belly. “Sarvarā and Ḱerberos were fine a few thousand years back, but honestly, they mean “spotty,” so why not just use Spot? He doesn’t mind.”

  “The guardian of the Underworld has a dog named Spot.”

  “Always have.”

  “Whatever, D.”

  It wasn’t enough, though, to get Abigail out of my mind, so I went out hunting. I knew a few gory deaths would help lift my spirits. Of course, I didn’t kill just to forget her; it was also to convince myself that I was still the same old hateful Gideon. I wasn’t entirely convinced, either, because even if I was the same old hateful Gideon, I wasn’t the same old cheerful Gideon.

  Finally, I decided to go back to the dock behind Abby’s house, just to clear my thoughts. Wouldn’t you know it, someone else’s thoughts managed to force their way into my head.

  Gideon, how have you been? Tristan. Crap.

  Bite me, Golden Boy.

  I think I’ll pass.

  I caught a flicker of Tristan’s emotions, though I could tell he was uncomfortable and closed off that part of his mind to me after only a few seconds. I only caught a fraction of the pain he was in, and was surprised at its burning intensity, since, by the look on his face, I would have assumed all was calm within. It had never occurred to me that he might suffer, probably because, well, it would never have occurred to me to care. Sheesh, what else had I gone without noticing?

  So, where have you been? And there he went again, acting like nothing was wrong.

  Did you talk to your parents about whatever this connection with us is?

  He gave me a brief rundown of his conversation with Beraht and Charmeine. Very brief, because he’d learned nothing. Why don’t you ask your father? He seemed hesitant to ask.

  I can’t ask my father. We don’t ask each other personal questions. We don’t talk much at all, and he hardly acknowledges my existence. He’s afraid of me, just like everyone else.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—

  Tristan didn’t try to continue, and I didn’t ask him to.

  “Dad!” Abigail’s voice startled both of us. She was standing on the shore, looking out over the water. “I am so sorry! This is all my fault.” Both Tristan and I turned to her.

  “No, Abigail.” I didn’t know what came over me, but I was beside her in a flash,
and to my great surprise, I was visible. It is only by the sheerest luck that I was not dripping with the blood of my latest kill. Things might have gone quite differently if I had been.

  “Gideon,” she cried, and whirled to face me.

  “Are you OK?” I tried to keep my worry from her, but it was all there in my voice. Damn. All my curiosity was probably evident, too. I didn’t know why she wasn’t shouting at me for answers.

  “No, I’m not. They’re both gone because of me.” Her eyes weren’t focused on me. They weren’t focused on anything.

  “No, it’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is. You were there.” She paused. “It was you, right?”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “How did you…?” She took a quick breath, and I realized the questions were forming in her mind.

  “You should go back in the house, Abby.”

  “You’re not going to tell me why you saved me?”

  “I didn’t save you, Abigail.” Immediately her sadness was replaced by confusion.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I didn’t know how exactly to tell her that I’d actually failed in an attempt to murder her.

  “What are you talking about, Gideon?”

  “I didn’t save you, Abigail,” I started. “I tried to kill you. I just didn’t do a very good job of it.” She took a cautious step back.

  “You tried to kill me?” She was shaken by the news, but her eyes said she wasn’t about to run away, at least not until she got some answers.

  “Abby, I didn’t want—”

  “Why?” She cut me off, putting on a brave expression even though her voice shook.

  I looked away, afraid to hold her gaze for too long. “Because it’s what I do.” I hoped she would take that simple answer and let me go, but I knew her too well, and I knew she wouldn’t.